Rock me back and forth,
push me till i fall

tumble down to the pond,
look at our reflection

yell at the top of your lungs,
im yelling so hard it hurts

take me to the beach,
drown me in sand

drown me in sand till i scream,
pour it inside my mouth till it stops

Old ghosts are chasing me through the dark.
I thought eighteen years was enough.

I need to be free.

There is an old ghost
In the back of your mouth.
The death rattle of silver, screaming
Let me out!

There is a darkness
Deep in the ground.
An old town with a
Sad new secret now.

I know we’ll never have it all,
But it’s enough for me.
And I know we’ll never have it all worked out,
But we’ll figure it out as we go.

Silver Beach: Always the Sole First

familiar white fishing boat, up with early light,
seeking sustenance and pleasure in = measure,
anchored ‘bout quarter mile east of my under-the-coverlet,
(of course! as the crow, raven or scavenging osprey flies),
it’s precise location amazingly exact, but alas, soon daily
familiarity breeds no secrecy, and now joined by a
farther out, smaller version, a compatriot in spotitude,
of the best spots for harvesting the early running
brackish bay water favorites, striped or black sea bass

what persistent fortitude these fisher-peoples display,
early to rise, first to depart, when others crowd its “spot,”
(amazed by its knowing precision the exactitude of “spot”)
this ship, always the sole-first, invokes a first poem of the day,
always a soul-first, an unburdening of deepest gratitude that
one more day granted me to imbibe this vista, awake to its
soothing silent heavenly serenity, absent machine or
electronic interference with my delicate sleepy wakefulness,
when newly minted words come into my mind, my
secret spot



Sat AM June 3